collette brown

innerpulse

The way in, usually starts when you have been without. Most of our greatest stories begin like this, with a soft collapsing of everything we have held dear. These moments in life, that stick to the inside of our being, and make us ill, make us weep, and make us feel like dying. These moments are the keys to the doors we have kept closed far too long.

I was just waking up, stretching and yawning, murmuring my morning prayers of gratitude. It was too early to remember we had really broken up some time ago. But, as my memory washed over me, the tears began to form. This is a habit I cannot keep up. This sadness, this regret and this not knowing had been creating a destructive madness within me.

Your ghost had been following me since the separation. And at this point, it seems I can’t get you out of my system. Questions of my self worth and memories of my childhood had been mingling in my mind like a toxic cocktail. I find. I am lost between worlds that have come and gone.

This heartbreak felt like the birth of an unwanted child. I was being forced to dance alone with my feelings. Strange feelings and thoughts clouded my daily routines. I needed to shower more, eat more, sleep more, drink less, and think about you, less.

I sent you a message. Deep breathe.

“hey, was just checking on you, seeing how you’ve been…” Silence ensues.

Chasing a lost lover is like trying to catch a wave in an ocean. It can be the greatest catalyst for the resurfacing of hidden shadows.

“Come out come out come out….wherever you are”

I whisper to myself.

I am curled in fetal position, slightly high, and slightly intoxicated. I am praying, but I am interrupted by the silence of my phone. You still haven’t returned. You have moved on.

I cry out to the Mother universe, one more time. And I am suddenly amazed, at the longing, the hurt and pain I carry inside.

An anchor. I have found an anchor in the midst of the sea of my devastation. This, is not just about us.

This, is about my entire life.

From that moment on, I make it my mission to get to the root of my tears. I make it my mission to explore every corner of my misgivings, leaving no stone unturned. I would do this for myself. I would save my own soul.

Our neglected child-­selves come out to play when danger is near. They have left their marks in these dilated places. Hidden in our words and action they lead us to our greatest evolutions.

I found my abandonment issues hiding under a rug in my heart. I had met my father only twice in this lifetime. I found my neglect shadows hiding in a corner of my spirits closet. My mother, my gift on earth, had spent much of my childhood in her mind.

I am healing.

I am forgiving.

I am gaining strength. I am writing again.

And these poems are changing.

The texture of my voice is becoming smooth like black skies. I am starting to understand the blessing of this tragedy.

I am yet another woman being made strong in the absence of love.

Transformations of the soul are paradoxical like that. Women, we are powerful like that. I went through the doorway of the brokenhearted and came out beautiful.